All Made Out Of Ticky-Tacky

Yesterday, I was elbow-deep in a wild gift-wrapping extravaganza at the family store when Pete’s friend Sabrina called from Newark Airport to say she was at the car rental counter and her driver’s license expired in February. Oh sure, we’d chatted about her flying in for Pete’s birthday weeks ago, but time passed and I forgot all about it. I spun around behind the counter and observed three facts: the customers kept wanly saying Take your time, the gifts sat in a field of festive ribbon curls and the airport was more than 40 minutes away. I said, “There’s a train right to New Brunswick. We’ll pick you up by the bridge.”

Since then, no one has used his or her inside voice.

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